


Nesting Pyre

by Mnemos9



Series: Mirages [1]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Distancing, F/M, Healing takes time & effort, Implied/Referenced Childhood Trauma(s), Post-Fury Road, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Reunion, Series-Typical Angst, Slow Burn, Survival, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 05:08:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4422557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mnemos9/pseuds/Mnemos9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hundred days after the legendary Battle of the Fury Road, Furiosa is rebuilding the Citadel. Max is rebuilding the sanity he has left.</p><p>Two jagged halves determined to remain separate. To salvage what they can of their individual lives and identities.</p><p>But life often works against our goals. There are some wounds that time can't heal by itself. Some wounds that fester and can only become exposed when contrasted by the darkness we find in each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **This entire story is currently being overhauled. 2/3 of Ch 1 is done and I'll have more updates SOON.**  
>  (As of 03/31/16)

He doesn’t know where he’s going beyond _away_. The tide of people will carry Max back out to the sea of the Wastes, and that’s all that matters. Probability or most likely luck. That’s why this unexpected layover succeeded with so few casualties. 

He knows better than to press the odds.

When he feels Furiosa’s gaze reaching out for him, he makes the mistake of looking back. It isn’t one he’ll repeat _._ The way it feels like she’s trying to clutch at him from afar is all in his head. Max is mental, not stupid.

 _Projection_. An Old World concept of psychology that doesn’t belong in the present. It barely surfaces before he aggressively drowns it.

It doesn’t matter that he has no supplies or transportation whatsoever. Max’s legs work well enough and they’ll suffice until he can double back using another set of wheels to check the canyon wreckage. Salvage what he can of his hijacked Interceptor.

Max thinks he caught a glimpse of civilization on the way into this territory. At the time, he’d been jogging for over an hour after the war party that had captured him, but he doesn’t usually hallucinate entire structures.

A little over a day’s walk from the Citadel, he’s rewarded for his faith. The settlement _is real_ -nestled snug across a narrow plateau overlooking the valley.  Max stays there only long enough to trade labor for necessities. A pair of half-life brothers infatuated with his resilience offer themselves up to help him reclaim and rebuild his precious vehicle. They beg him to stay and he leaves them a scattered offering of bullets in place of a verbal farewell. As soon as his ride is ready, he gasses it up and heads for the coast.

It’s there that he’d lost the last shreds of his sanity, and ironically, _there_ is where he’ll find what remains of it. The time he spends in the dunes communing with the dead helps a little.

Now though, as his tires carry Max back down the Fury Road, it’s painfully obvious that his foolishness has only been lying in wait over the days and nights he’s spent reminding himself what the cost of attachment is.

“You’d better not be going back.”

He glances in the rear view mirror at Angharad in the back. Though he can’t see from this angle, Max knows that her belly’s a gaping crater that the babe is still linked to by his umbilical cord.

“Overfeeding him.” He growls, listening to the boy suckling.

Knows that its’ tiny stomach is distended with soured milk turned black with clotted ashes. He supposes there’s only so much nutrition a dead woman’s body can provide through a withered tube.

“Max, you _can’t_ go back.” Ignoring him, she shifts her bloody son in her arms. “You _can’t_ take their chance away like that.”

“ 'M not.” Sighing, he tears his eyes from his cargo and focuses on the road.

The boy drinks endlessly and Max can feel Angharad glaring at his back. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Opting for silence, he allows himself to be hypnotized by the endless sprawl of dirt. Eventually, they leave him be.

“ 'M not.” He repeats, not entirely sure which question he’s answering.  The road is long after all, and it leads to many destinations.

Currently, Max and his car are running on fumes. Either he’ll find a source or it will find him. Simple as that. He’s got enough bullets to trade in commerce or in combat. And sure enough, a blur in the distance eventually takes the shape of a caravan whose driver flags him down.

“Real fine day we’re ‘avin, eh?” A man not much older than himself soothes one of his bleating camels as Max cracks his door ajar.

He grunts noncommittally and nods towards the covered wagon. “Barter?”

“Got the highest quality goods you’ll find–“

“Juice? Food?” Max croaks. “ _Water_?”

“Wouldn’t ‘ave much business without ‘em !” The man laughs, stroking his agitated camel’s neck.

Scanning the surrounding area for any hint of an ambush, Max finds none. Retrieving a small satchel from the glove compartment, he eases out of the cab while mentally noting that the handgun strapped to his ribs has the appropriate weight for a full clip.

He gets half-a-quart of guzzoline and a pouch of mixed nuts and seeds. The Geiger counter he’s picked up _sings_ when he switches it on over the jugs of water.

“What’s a little fallout, then?” The merchant laughs again, patting his camel as it whines at the noise. “You know you need this stuff to _live_ , right?”

Max lifts his head to see smoke rising quite a ways off and mentally shrugs as he nods at his purchases. “Mm. Good with these.”

>>> 

As he turns his back to her, she stomps on the thing in her gut that feels a whole lot like betrayal. He’s made his choice and she tells herself that it’s the best one for all of them.

“Where’s Max going?” Dag murmurs, her breath warming Furiosa’s shoulder.

She twists to catch the girl craning her neck, searching the crowd. And she doesn’t have to ask who ‘Max’ is. Who else could it be?

“The Road.” Furiosa replies, turning from it. From the teeming masses of cheering Wretched and from the nameless road warrior who suddenly _does_ have a name.

Dag meets her eyes then, guilty revelation torrenting over her features like the aqua-cola gushing from the approaching cliffs. “He…” she bites her lip and is saved from delivering an explanation when Toast adds in

“He told you when it looked like you were getting ready to join his ghosts. Probably the only ones ‘sides us who know it.”

Furiosa appreciates the dismissive tone of her voice and huffs in agreement as the lift docks.

He’d probably had to be sure that in death, she’d know what to call him.

 _Masochistic son of a bitch_ , she thinks to herself as they take their first steps into the halls of the Citadel as genuine human beings. Even if none of the old guard recognize it yet.

Without Max's help, they’d be dead or worse but allowing appreciation to become sentiment is usually a dangerous mistake. She’ll never forget the man or what he’s done for them. But she won’t dwell on him either.

Nearly a hundred days have passed and Furiosa _is not_ dwelling.

Ninety-one to be precise-and on this, she certainly doesn’t want to be. By this point in her life, she’s learned not to fling unwanted thoughts away; they only ricochet to leave you stunned on the floor inside your own head. So she nudges them aside like parting her way through the currents of people who call the Citadel _home_.

She’s also come to learn that what makes something a home is having the freedom to leave it. To step out into the Great Wide-get a little scuffed. And know you have somewhere to return to that’s not just a fortress, but _a sanctuary_.

So while it’s undeniably reckless to venture out unaccompanied on a decommissioned war bike, she never lets that stop her. Her construction _demands_ swift freedom and she knows that to deny it will only obstruct her own efficiency in the long run. The Imperator harbors no illusions of immortality regarding it.

In addition to the two pipe bombs tucked into her tail bag, there's a pistol secured to the frame and another hidden on her person. Today, Furiosa travels light and far-her starving bike devouring the road as the sun speeds across the sky. Using up this much guzz is an indulgence, yet an affordable one.

Not long ago, the very idea would have made her cringe.

A smudge on the horizon lengthens gradually along with the shadows and her curiosity. It’s utter madness to investigate alone but she’s suspected for a while now that along with the infusion, she took more than just his blood into her veins. It’s an overpowering compulsion that drives her towards the smoking planted flag of some wasteland conqueror.

Similar to a time in another life when her mother and clan had watched with silent understanding as Furiosa had repeatedly attempted to caress the flames grilling their meal.

It’s near dusk when she’s greeted by the roar of engines and the smattering of celebratory gunfire. Furiosa scales the hill overlooking the smoldering ruins and quickly camouflages her ride with mesh before tucking it in-between the boulders. The cheering of the riders (three bikes, five astride) is cut off by the tempo of their artillery as they circle the wreckage of the encampment.

 _Shit_. Feeding compulsions rarely leads to fortunate circumstances.

As the bikers reverse and vault up over the crumbling barriers, she distinctly hears a girl scream. Furiosa’s well hidden up here, but something inside her _insists_ that staying put isn’t an option. A piercing cry of desperate rage followed by a returning barrage of bullets is the final push.

“Stupid.” She hisses, yanking the goggles from her head and ejecting the clip from the pistol on her bike. “ _Fuk-ushima_  kamakrazee.” Pocketing the clip and bombs, Furiosa reasons that it’s as good a day to die as any.

Sliding down the embankment, she rakes the last third of the grit with her metal arm to steady herself. Weaving in and out of disused trenches that line the valley, she reaches a burnt hole in the partition. Pulling the bandana back over her face, she punches away lose debris and crawls into the smoking pit.

Keeping low to the ground, Furiosa serpentines around the rubble and halts at a charred section of sheet metal. Peering round the thing, she sees a massive woman in partial body armor pinning down a teenage girl by the collarbone.

“–making it harder on yourself!” The raider yells over the blasts echoing from the other side of the camp. “Be a real shame to break some of those pretty little bones.”

The girl answers with that same berserk shriek and sinks her teeth into the woman’s exposed wrist. The raider grins savagely and punches the girl in the diaphragm.

Furiosa grabs a blackened stake of wood and launches at the distracted thug, burying the jagged edge into the gap between the metal pauldron and her neck.

Howling, she releases the girl and spins, snarling “YOU’LL BURN FOR THAT, BITCH!!!”

The smaller woman evades the raider’s first angry swing with ease, but her solidly built legs are free of armor–unhindered by its' weight. With surprising force, she kicks Furiosa in the stomach, sending her reeling back into the sheet metal. Slashing her palm open on it, the Imperator charges with an infuriated cry-smashing her metal fist into the woman’s nose. The thug bellows as it crunches; blood showering Furiosa’s grated knuckles. Grappling onto her glistening face, Furiosa twists the disoriented woman around and yanks back _foolishly long_ hair to expose her throat before driving her into the jagged metal with a feral howl of triumph.

Arterial blood jets out as the woman slides down, separating from the slicing edge with panicked gurgling where she crumples; jerking violently as her first mouth gapes while her second paints the dust in crimson gouts.

Gasping, Furiosa rights herself and casts over to the trembling teenager staring at the scene with dark, glazed eyes. She can’t be older than seventeen. Underfed with mahogany skin and high cheekbones framed by a halo of black ringlets that catch what’s left of the distorted daylight from every angle.

“Hey,” Furiosa pants, raising her arms above her head. “It’s alright, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The teen’s gaze darts from victor to victim as she rises shakily to her feet. “Why not?”

Huffing a smile, Furiosa wipes blood on her trousers. “Cuz I don’t want to.”

Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, the girl takes a halting step forward. For a moment, neither speaks. Then she kicks dirt over her fallen captor and spits.

“Don’t know what you’re planning,” she wipes her mouth on a ragged sleeve. “but there are more.”

“Raiders?” Furiosa kneels beside the corpse, tearing a strip from its’ markedly clean shirt and wrapping it snug around her gashed palm.

“ _Slavers_.” She spits again, joining Furiosa on the ground. “They’re cannibals.” Unbuckling the corpse’s holster, she frowns at the sheathed magnum. “I didn’t see her use it.”

Furiosa nods at the weapon. “Check.”

“I…” the girl’s frown deepens. “I can’t remember how.” She mutters.

Standing, Furiosa pulls the teenager to her feet and motions for the weapon. Reluctantly, she hands the gun over.

“Five in the clip.” Furiosa shows her. “One in the chamber.” As she returns it, more gunfire sounds off and the girl shudders visibly.

“What’s your name?”

“Rabbit.”

“Know how to shoot?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” She strides off, Rabbit hurrying in her wake. “There’s at least four more out there, so don’t hesitate to shoot but make damn well sure you _don’t miss_.”

Rabbit makes a noise of confirmation from behind her. “Might be other survivors too, but I doubt it.”

As the smoke intensifies further in, Furiosa unties her bandanna and hands it off. Rabbit gives her a stubborn look that she meets evenly and the girl rolls her eyes, reluctantly tying the cloth over her mouth.

Two nearby figures are launched in opposing directions by a small explosion that rocks the place. Through the smoke, it’s impossible to tell their affiliation. Retaliating fire goes off as the two females skirt the edges of the destruction. From around the corner, a shotgun blast answers as Furiosa grabs Rabbit and hauls her into the doorway of a partially collapsed hangar. Another blast from less than four yards away has Rabbit visibly grinding her jaw under the bandanna. The girl rips herself from Furiosa’s side; a raw scream pulled from her throat as she pelts past the hangar and levels the magnum.

Furiosa rushes after her-pistol at the ready-and when she locks eyes with the man Rabbit has in her sights, time grinds to a screeching halt.

Hands shaking so hard the gun rattles in her grip, the teenager squeezes the trigger as Furiosa barrels into her, diverting the trajectory of the bullet as they fall.

Rabbit yelps “You said _not_ to hesitate!” as she squirms her way free. “ _Not_ to miss!!”

“ _I know_.” Furiosa groans, rolling onto her back to grin up at _Max’s_ confounded, upside-down face.

“He a friend of your’s?”

Furiosa's grin becomes almost manic as Max blinks dazedly down at her. “Something like that.”


	2. Chapter 2

The only thing that keeps her from bursting into hysterical laughter is the knowledge that she won’t be able to stop. Grunting, Furiosa rolls onto her stomach and forces her expression into something _slightly less_ insane. She wonders if there’s a point.

If she’ll stand and look into the face of a complete stranger who only loosely resembles the fool who showed them a different path.

“Could’ve told me you weren’t alone.” Rabbit grumbles, inhaling deep as she pushes the bandanna down past her chin.

As Furiosa gets to her feet, she has to duck her head to maintain a neutral expression. It _is_ him. Even her skilled imagination can’t create the sheer bewilderment that Max is aiming her way.

“Thought I was.” She allows _some_ of the relief into her voice so that it doesn’t all bleed out across her face.

He doesn’t move; staring at her silently like she’s a drawing in the dust that he’s afraid to breathe on. There’s a kind of reverence in his gaze that feels like ants crawling over her skin.

Whatever Furiosa means to say is forgotten when a tiny arm wraps around the man’s calf and a second set of wide eyes ogles up at her from behind darkly matted locks.

“Dakka!” Rabbit cries, and the boy clutching onto Max’s leg smiles shyly, waving up at the teenager before tightening his grip. “Figured they’d of taken you anyway,” the child shakes his head in a wild arc. “You’d of made a decent meal for one of those brutes.”

The boy makes an excited sound like automatic fire that really only can be sounded out as “ _Dakka_!” He shakes his head again, tugging on Max’s pant leg and craning his head skyward to the man who towers above him. “Dakka! Dakka da- _kka_!” He lets go and sweeps his arms wide “BWOOOOOM!!”clearly mimicking an explosion.

As if he were summoning it, a second explosion goes off much closer than the first.

“Move!” Furiosa yells over the ringing and waves the group towards the relative cover of the collapsing hangar. She catches Rabbit’s eye, gesturing at Dakka. “Hold him back!” Rabbit nods and speaks soothing words to the child who’s clearly reluctant to leave Max’s side. “Stay in the doorway but don’t go inside if you can help it.” The younger pair glance up at the sagging ceiling as it groans ominously.

Max still looks halfway in-between worlds, so Furiosa snaps her fingers to get his attention. “Counted five coming in, took one out. Plus the two out there you got just now. Were they slavers or survivors?”

Max scrubs a hand over his face, a sound like a wounded animal rumbling from deep in his lungs. “One of each.” Guilt flashes across his features. “Took mm, two stragglers on the way in.” His eyes flick up to her's before darting around the vicinity. “Should be three left from the original party.”

The dirt nearby gets shot up, and they throw themselves to the ground in unison as bullets ping off surrounding debris. _Shit_! They’re clearly outgunned by the sound of it. Furiosa doesn’t dare lift her head to check on the kids, but waits for a break in the fire before pressing herself right up to Max’s ear to whisper

“One of us has to draw them out.” She notes his impulsive jerk at the increased closeness, wrestling a pipe bomb out of her pocket to show him. “Got another.”

More fire and this time, Max covers her body, nearly drowning her in dust as he pushes her into it. When it breaks, he lets her go immediately and she convinces herself that the hammering of her heart is only from the proximity of imminent Death.

“I’ll distract them, I'm faster.” She decides, nudging his leg brace with her knee. “How many shells you got for that thing?” Furiosa nods at the shotgun he’s clutching over their heads.

“Enough.”

She rolls her eyes but nods in approval when he withdraws a tied pouch the size of his fist. “Trade.” With speed born of battle, Furiosa offers Max her bombs, extra clip and pistol with the barrel directed away from them.

As Max accepts the pistol, he looks her dead in the eye and deliberately squeezes her right hand covering the grip. Before she can blink, he’s scurrying off like a gecko across the dirt. She's still faster.

Luckily the shotgun is loaded and from this angle, the recoil is significantly decreased as Furiosa fires off a round at a rusted oil drum full of holes and void of its intended contents.  More whooping from the shooters followed by a fresh volley and Furiosa huffs at the wastefulness. Popping off ammo like it rains from the sky.

She tries to pinpoint their exact location by sound alone, but the acoustics in this graveyard coupled with her extremely limited mobility make it possible only to discern their general direction. Resigning herself to it, Furiosa fires off another diversionary shot, emptying the spent shells before loading two more and aiming slightly higher to fire off another.

Max had better hurry the fuck up.

A clatter behind her has Furiosa twisting to catch sight of Rabbit struggling to keep Dakka in her arms. She’s seen it before-children so panicked to escape that they end up running straight into a hail of bullets. The slavers hold their fire as Dakka squirms, kicking the inner frame of the hangar. Rabbit’s eyes bulge with horror as the movement sets off an obscenely loud echo followed by the unmistakable moaning of a structure about to fall.

“RUN!” Furiosa bellows as the kids make a run for it in her peripheral.

She grabs the pouch of ammo and rolls out into the immediate battleground as the hangar keens; one of its’ walls coming down perilously close to where she’d been a heartbeat before. Shielding herself from the resultant flurry of grit, Furiosa raises her chin just in time to lock eyes with a helmeted shooter not six yards away who levels an assault rifle directly at her face.

She watches him pull the trigger. Hears the echoing click.

Judging by the fact that her head is _intact_ , he must have used up the clip. Grinning wickedly, Furiosa means to return the favor. However, the hangar’s deafening cries divert her focus and the round meant for the slaver’s face goes through their shoulder instead.

She can just make out an enraged cry as she rolls right up into the shell of a car that composes a portion of the camp’s barrier. Ducking inside the upturned cap, she peers out to see the old hangar finally succumb to gravity; most of its’ remainder caving in on itself as the rest of it crashes into the surrounding ruins.

The Earth rocks in its’ wake as another explosion accompanies it. Curled into a ball, Furiosa squeezes her eyes shut as the world's compressed into the piercing ring in her ears and the vibrations of gunfire that break out, falter and then die.

The Imperator doesn’t move-barely dares to breathe as the thunder of her own pulse confirms that her heart still beats. She doesn’t know how long she spends nestled in the shelter of the cab, clutching onto the rusted skeleton of the steering wheel over her head. Eventually, the ringing begins to subside, and she’s about to crawl out when a pair of boots stumbles into her limited scope of vision.

There’s a good chance that whoever they are will be able to hear if she tries to reload. Plus all of her gear is with Max, who could very well be scattered to pieces by now. Furiosa brushes the interior walls with the fingers of her right hand, seeking anything that can be improvised as a weapon.

Maybe she’s louder than she thinks, or maybe her luck’s finally run out because the boots halt before pointing in her direction.  Moving in increments, Furiosa continues to fumble blindly and nudges the rear view mirror, where a shard of glass tumbles from the frame and falls by her knees. Claiming it quickly, she’s dimly aware of the glass pricking through her wrappings, aggravating the slice in her palm.

Jaw set, she steels herself and waits for the survivor to come to her as she clenches the small shard and feels warm blood begin to seep anew through the binding. The feet stop a good distance from her position as the person stoops.

Max’s blood-smattered features greet her and Furiosa exhales in a huff, letting the glass fall to the ground as he cocks his head at her.

“Would've gutted you faster than blinking.” She grunts, hauling herself out of the wreck "Let me know–" and just barely manages to swallow down ' _next time_ '. 

Shrugging, Max straightens and produces the pistol she gave him along with the remaining pipe bomb.

Crossing over to him, Furiosa glances around at the carnage. If there are body parts strewn around, they’re obscured by the smoke and indistinguishable from the charred scraps of metal and wood that litter the place.

Tossing him the shotgun and shells, she holds out her left hand for the supplies. Furiosa startles when Max drops his possessions, reaching for her injury with alarming swiftness. Forcibly suppressing a snarl, she indulges him as he inspects her wrapped palm. Max frowns at the fresh blood, grunting in disapproval as he brushes the pad of his thumb across the wetness. Hissing, Furiosa firmly removes it from his grasp; taking the weapons back with her prosthetic hand and pocketing them.

Glancing up, she sees Max rubbing her blood between his thumb and index finger, staring down at the faint smudge in awe. He brings a hand up to his mouth as a slip of tongue darts out to capture the crimson.

Smirking, Furiosa takes in his utterly ravaged appearance, noticing how he favors his right leg even more now. He’s dirtied and scraped up all over; hair a slick mess that sticks out at ridiculous angles. His leathers shine with blood that she can’t determine the source of. Are those bullet holes in the jacket fresh? She can’t tell.

“Were you shot?”

 _Again_ , he grunts, still playing with her blood as his eyelids flutter shut.

“Hey,” she tries to snap again, but her flesh tugs on the cut and stings. “Hey!” She coughs, inhaling smoke and pushes impatiently through it. “You hurt or not?”

Eyes closed, a grin flits so quickly over his lips that she may have imagined it. “You’re mm...you're  _real_.” He rasps in a voice that resembles the smoldering landscape.

“Yeah, Max, I am.” She sighs, the exhaustion finally catching up.

His lids fly open, panic extinguishing any relief that may have sparked to life there.

“Relax-Dag told me.” Gesturing to his bloodied mouth, Furiosa murmurs. “Ghosts don’t bleed, anyway.”

Max shakes his head, brows drawn together as she sighs again, running her prosthetic over the fuzz covering her scalp. “Well, I’m pretty sure their blood doesn’t taste like mine. Cummon, let’s get the kids.”

>>> 

The boy and girl are tucked behind a wall of metal that’s rapidly staining with arterial spray. The corpse of a large woman that Max can only assume is one of Furiosa’s kills lies in a patch of blood-dampened earth at the base. The boy- _Dakka_ the girl called him-flings himself at Max, luckily choosing his uninjured leg to latch onto. Swinging his small head from the direction of the body to squint up at Max, he wrinkles his nose and sticks his tongue out.

He’s so small that Max can’t even pat his head from here, and that’s probably a good thing because the boy’s very presence is prodding corners in Max’s brain that should be left as unagitated as possible.

“Fat chance.” He glances sideways at the owner of a half-forgotten voice, only to see no one there.

With a roll of his shoulders that only serves to remind him of his injuries, Max grimaces and hopes that Furiosa is too engrossed with her examination of the girl to notice. _She doesn’t_ , but the girl eyes him wearily.

“She can smell it coming off you.” The voice of a dead woman jeers in his ear. There's a blurred flash of her shrieking his name delightedly as she drags him through a market towards a row of caged enclosures where long-eared animals lope about.

“You ok?” The teenager peers up at him uncertainly.

He hums noncommittally as Furiosa peers over her shoulder. “Probably not.” She mutters darkly before turning back to the girl and considering her slender arm. “It’s a through-and-through. If it's only numb, than the nerve is probably damaged. There’s a clinic where I’m from and they'll patch you up.”

“You don’t look like you’re _from_ anywhere.”

Furiosa smiles openly and Max looks away, but it’s too late-the image is freshly cauterized into his brain.

Helping the girl to her feet, the woman surveys the lot of them. “We’re going to the Citadel.” Max tries to shift his weight before the knife wound in his calf stops him. “ _All of us_.” She glares at him and her tone holds no argument.

“ _The_ Citadel?” The girl draws Furiosa’s attention back to her as Dakka taps on Max’s brace. His fingers come perilously close to grazing the wound before he stops, peeking up at Max through his dark locks.

“Da- _kka_ …” he murmurs with clear concern too quiet for the others to hear.

Another child’s soft cry echoes through his head and Max shakes it, trying to ground himself with the conversation happening right in front of him.

“…in the flesh? _The_ Furiosa that killed the Immortan and took his fortress with an army of liberated slave-wives?”

The woman laughs with her entire body, slumping forward over her knees. The sound rings clearer than the church bells from his childhood. Max wants to pull his own heart from his chest to throttle it for daring to feel so featherlight in response to the sound.

“Basically.” She motions with a metal thumb over her shoulder to Max standing behind her. “He helped.”

The girl gapes like the precious fish on display he remembers his father showing him at what was supposed to be The Last Museum on Earth.

Furiosa points to each of them in turn by ways of hasty introduction.

“Max.” She says and he nods. His name sounds surreal rolling off her tongue.

“Rabbit.” The girl nods back and Max does his best to look unphased as Jessie giggles in his ear.

“And Dakka, right?” Furiosa kneels next to the boy and Max hopes that she can’t see the wet slice in his pant leg.

“Dakka!” The child nods enthusiastically, loosening his grip slightly.

“That about all he says?” Max’s voice feels like sand. It nearly chokes him as it leaves his throat.

“Just about.” Rabbit confirms. “Never heard him make a peep that wasn’t an imitation of weaponry.”

Dakka beams up at everyone and points to Furiosa’s left arm, aiming an invisible assault rifle at her from the look of it. “Dakkadakka?” He fires off imaginary rounds and points to it again wildly.

“No,” she smiles at him, shaking her head before holding her arm out clearer for him to see. “It’s not a gun. Wouldn’t that be something, though?”

“Bloke rolled through a while back,” Rabbit chimes in as Furiosa starts to get to her feet. Judging from the way she glares at Max’s leg, she _has_ noticed. “Had an arm like that, cept it went up the shoulder. Showed off this attachment rigged up to his wrist that fired small rounds." She scoffs. "Even I'm a better shot than 'e was with that rot.”

“I’ll bet.” Furiosa’s expression darkens as she turns to face the teenager. “Did either of you have anyone…?”

Rabbit begins to untie the bandanna  Max recognizes as Furiosa’s from around her neck and tosses it back while nodding towards the center of the camp. “Back there you mean?”

Furiosa nods.

“Not anymore.” There’s steel in her voice and Furiosa doesn’t say another word about it.

The four of them duck out of the ruins. The explosions took out the slaver’s cache of weapons as well as their owners, so there’s no salvage to be found there. The bikes-including Furiosa’s-don’t stand a chance of fitting into the Interceptor.

“Sturdy as she is.” Furiosa grins fondly at his vehicle, brushing the hood with the fingertips of her injured hand.

With four passengers, there isn’t even room for any parts. The Imperator takes the bikes up a hill that her own ride is hidden away on. Rabbit’s arm is out of commission. Furiosa tells Max that he can’t drive anything right now with his left leg so impaired, and loathe as he is to admit it-she’s right. The heavy blade that pierced his flesh was serrated, and had torn the already damaged muscle on the way out. Putting additional pressure on it is foolish when there's an alternative.

The plan is to send a party from the Citadel and with any luck, the stash will remain untouched until then.

“Don’t look so damn depressed,” Furiosa tells him by the side of the car after Rabbit and Dakka have piled into the back. “Some recovery isn’t gonna kill you."

Humor tinges her words but Furiosa can’t see Angharad standing beside her, shaking a head of long, flowing hair while scowling icily at Max. Forcing himself to meet the live woman’s gaze, Max nods.

He honestly can’t remember the last time he had a sip of water, or even pissed for that matter.

“No one’s gonna hold you prisoner this time.” Furiosa intones, before taking a step back that he wasn’t aware of her taking forward in the first place. Breaking eye contact with him, she pushes past and slides into the driver’s seat.

“ _You said_ you wouldn’t.” Angharad hisses from behind him as Max waves her off on his way to the passenger side.

Maybe he _is_ going back (just like he said he wouldn’t), but he damn well isn’t gonna stay there. Consciousness leaves him much quicker than he would have anticipated with someone else driving his beloved V8. In all honesty, Furiosa almost seems like she belongs behind its’ wheel.

Stupid thought. _Dangerous_.

Max dreams of the ocean. Of salivating at the sight of so much undrinkable water. He dreams that Furiosa is beside him and when he turns to her, she offers him a nest. The occupying pair within sing jubilantly, even as they ignite and their feathery flesh sloughs off from hollow bones. As Max watches, tendrils of flame burst forth from their tiny, floating hearts and begin to entwine around each other. If possible, the notes of their duet become even more elated when the roots of fire pierce through each other’s single remaining organ.

**Author's Note:**

> Wha'd you guys think? Was it shiny enough? 
> 
> This is un-beta'd and if anyone would be interested in providing that service for the next installment, please let me know!  
> (Come say hullo on my [tumblr](http://mnemos9.tumblr.com/))
> 
> You are all my crazy War Beauties and we will smash through the gates of Valhalla as One to proclaim our glory before the Mighty Allfather himself!


End file.
